


Things In The Dark

by UnderTheFridge



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Bad Science, Character Death, Charlie is an asshole, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Not nearly as gloomy as it sounds, Robot/Human Relationships, mild body horror, there's food and everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:12:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheFridge/pseuds/UnderTheFridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The damn robot has curves, and Millburn finds this distracting. Almost distracting enough to forget the fact that Fifield isn't interested, their every interaction ends in embarrassment, and that Charlie is behaving very strangely towards their android butler. Meanwhile, Vickers paints her toenails, and bunny slippers lose their innocence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfect Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot that grew multiple chapters, a plot, and a moderate amount of drama. Technically an AU/alternate timeline; it splits from the canon just before the Engineer head is brought back from the dome (i.e. Millburn and Fifield never get left behind, and the science people that are there to do science actually get to do some science which is why they're there in the first place).

There should really be horror-movie music playing as Charlie creeps up to the door, but the corridor is dead silent. Millburn’s breathing is faintly audible at the other end. He’s nervous, like a model schoolboy talked into playing a prank on a strict teacher.

He worked for a week to be able to open these doors by bypassing the fingerprint ID, without any beeps and whistles from the system. It opens a couple of feet, enough for him to comfortably slide through. The room is dark but he knows where she is, and where the obstacles are, so he can navigate without bumping into anything –

His chest hits a solid surface and he has time to think _that bastard_ before he’s roughly ejected like a drunk from a nightclub and stumbles back almost to the wall before regaining his balance.

“Charlie?” Millburn’s voice comes plaintive from his position by the junction box.

“She’s got the damn android in there!” Charlie hisses, anger and frustration. “Guarding her!”

“You ok, Charlie? Because, erm -.”

“I’m ok, he just pushed me. That’s all.” he runs a hand over his eyes, across his head. “Just – fuck, just turn the lights on, forget about it, we’ll think of something else… let’s go.”

“Charlie… the lights won’t work.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” there’s a slightly frantic edge to Millburn’s voice (that hasn’t ever really disappeared since they started this endeavour). “I did what you said but – they won’t turn on again.”

“You’ll find that the lights are non-functional in this section of the ship,” says a cultured voice from near the door, and they both freeze blindly.

“He’s here….” Millburn whines – it’s definitely an outright whine now. Charlie clenches his teeth.

“I suggest you return to your quarters, gentlemen. If you have business with Ms Vickers, it can surely wait until the morning. This is an… irregular hour.”

‘You can take your suggestion and shove it’ occurs to Charlie as something he could easily say, but they’re in the dark and (mostly) unarmed and the damn robot can probably see them in a hundred different ways.

“Your heart rate is elevated, Dr Millburn. Are you in need of medical assistance?”

Make that a hundred and one.

Millburn makes a small squeaking sound.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Both of them are trembling a little.

“C’mon,” Charlie says, projecting a we’re meant to be here confidence. “Let’s go.”

“Goodnight, doctors.”

He has to find Millburn in the darkness, grab his arm and make him move. As an answer to his prayers, the door at the other end isn’t locked (what would he do if they were shut in here with that thing?) and they make their escape. Their shoes scuff a little faster on the hard floor than either of them would care to admit, but at least there’s light from this point on.

“He knew, Charlie. How did he know…?”

“I don’t know. He must have got it from somewhere. Someone.”

“But what if we…?”

“Shut up,” Charlie snaps, and the wounded look Millburn gives him shows how tight he must be wound right now; cool guy Charlie biting off heads. “Hey, it’s not the end of the world. I bet she’s always that paranoid. Right? Using him as a bodyguard. Hey, what else do you think she uses him for?”

That makes Millburn smirk, and diffuses the tension.

“There’s gotta be hundreds of people trying to kill her….”

“Well,” Millburn rubs his glasses on the edge of his hoodie. “Nobody’s managed it yet, have they?”

“No. And definitely not with him around…” Charlie says, and then lapses into concentrated thought for so long that Millburn starts to worry again.


	2. Cyber Cult

“Charlie, I did something bad….” Millburn’s a man of science, usually with a casual and intelligent turn of phrase, but this is all he can find to say. He’s done something bad. He’s fucked up, and he knows it – he  has , and he  is .

He doesn’t know if Charlie’s even interested in what he’s done.

“That’s ok, man. None of us are saints, right?” Holloway smirks and clinks glasses with him. Millburn’s glass is slippery with condensation and sweat and he puts it down.

“Yeah, right.” He licks his lips and picks up his drink again, licks his lips again. Sips without his hand shaking too much.

“Just sit right here, relax, chill.”

He collapses his expansive frame onto the sofa, and Holloway sits beside him, putting sandal-clad feet up on the table.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Well….”


	3. Misfit

He knew he wasn’t in love. That was how it would go in a romantic drama – he would fall in love, and their fates would tear them apart, and either they would find a way to be together or it would all end horribly. Probably a good thing that he wasn’t in love.

But the damn robot had _curves_.

MIllburn has a thing for well-proportioned men, of any shape or size – Fifield is another example, scrawny and compact and sharp and somehow right, a person comfortable in his own skin.

David’s skin is a polyurethane-based matrix, apparently, but it looked and felt totally human. As did his hair, and his eyes – and then he smiled, and the illusion of humanity came crashing down. Although that didn’t stop Millburn from wanting him.

It was pure lust, for a perfect mannequin of a being in that goddamn skin-tight environment suit which only served to exaggerate his shape. Millburn greatly desired to fit his hands around that miniscule waist and pull him close, and got further distracted wondering if the collar structure of the suits would prevent them kissing. And then Vickers gave him a look as his heart rate spiked on the monitors, and probably wondered what the hell had got to him. Her brother, as it turned out – though that was a weird dynamic in itself, one that Millburn wanted to steer well clear of. A synthetic human couldn’t, by definition, be genetically related to anyone. Familial labels were as meaningless as the categories of _friend, confidant, lover_. If those really were meaningless.

He got his answer when he made the ill-advised decision to corner their android and initiate some inappropriate behaviour.

“Dr Millburn,” he said, when his mouth was released.

“I’m so sorry, I really am, I -.” Millburn started to back away, aware that he hadn’t actually been pushed.

“Perhaps we should continue this interaction somewhere more private.” A tilt of the head and that reassuring hint of a smile (it was probably engineered to be reassuring, anyway). And he hadn’t said no.

“Ok, ok…” Millburn was a little dumbfounded by his good fortune, not to be rejected immediately. “Ah, my room? I guess….”

When they got there, he did actually grasp David’s waist, and the contours did indeed fit into his hands. He gulped reflexively, and met eyes far too calculating to ever be soft.

“Look, I – you can – I mean, you don’t have to, don’t feel you have to….”

“Dr Millburn, I’m a sentient being. I’m perfectly capable of consent.”

“Good. Good.” A philosophical discussion buried under the floorboards for another day. “So... that’s a yes?”

“Of course. I assure you, I’ll inform you of anything I don’t like. And I hope you’d do the same.”

‘I’ll snap your fragile human bones’, was probably the subtext there.

“Ok, yeah. Great.” Millburn ran out of words and chose to kiss him again, and he tasted sterile, but the most noticeable thing apart from that was how he was learning. He was picking this up like any other skill, within seconds of receiving feedback. Millburn wasn’t confident of being the best teacher in the world – but still decent. Decent enough to hopefully please both of them.

He pulled back for air, and his breath ghosted against David’s cheek – but there was no reciprocal. Millburn wanted to laugh, and almost managed it. Of course the robot didn’t breathe.

“Um, right – clothes? Off?”

His ended up in the hastily-strewn pattern of a person who wants to get to bed, right now. David’s were in a stack, folded precisely. And yet somehow it took them equal time to get there. Millburn was diverted by this for a moment, until he turned back to look at his partner, and saw that a lack of respiration and some neatness habits hardly constituted the biggest difference between them.

“Have you never seen a synthetic being without clothing?” It didn’t take complex emotion-intuition software to pick up on Millburn’s wide-eyed disbelief. “I’m sorry. I assumed you knew.”

“That’s… no, it’s a surprise. It’s ok, though. I mean, there’s no reason for you to have – you know. Junk. Reproductive organs.”

He was at a disadvantage here, being wrong-footed like that. The android obviously knew what human bodies looked like. He wasn’t surprised at all. There would be no education; no ‘teach me to love’. In a way, that was almost a shame.

“But you’re still hot, though,” Millburn said hastily, evidenced by the fact that his brain wasn’t the organ receiving the most blood. “And there’s other things we can do….”

One specific request of his ended up being denied (and so he will never know if robots swallow or not). But he was perfectly content to explore, touch and be touched in return, each a foil for the other’s curiosity. He pressed David into the bed, with one hand grasping his wrists, and rather belatedly realised that that might be interpreted as threatening.

“Sorry, do you mind…? I mean, I’d usually sort of know if it was ok, because… sorta, communication. Like, they’d let me know….”

“It’s alright.” His eyes sparked, figuratively. “I wouldn’t let you do anything I found distressing.”

“Yeah, you’d warn me…” he thought about it a little more “and you could probably – get out?”

Millburn is a large man, accustomed to being careful with his partners. Taller than David by a couple of inches, and seemingly twice as wide.

The android _surged_ and reversed their positions like it was nothing.

“I could.”

He pinned the human so effortlessly that Millburn lay limp for a few seconds – not out of fear, but awe. Respect for the technical accomplishment. Recall of the fact that synthetics were at least five times as strong as their fleshy comrades, and at least twice as fast, and he would be at least ten times as fucked if David suddenly decided to terminate his hitherto happy existence.

He didn’t. He graciously let Millburn back on top and lay there, not quite completely passive, but by no means active. Letting the human take the lead.


	4. Wishing Eye

Millburn sees now what a mistake it was. Enjoyable, sure, but a mistake. David stayed for a few hours, enough to let the human fall asleep, then crept off somewhere, as he’d said he would. Millburn figured that was a good idea, seeing as only one of them actually required rest. There was no indication that the encounter had been anything but agreeable.

But that’s the problem – he got what he wanted. And David is far too intelligent to ignore that. The android knows, now, that Millburn is prey to his feelings – that they have something between them that can’t be shared. That’s why Millburn is glad that he’s not actually in love. Only in lust. Though the power of his technophile boner is a strong one in its own right.

He thinks that Charlie might understand that. Or at least,  _ would  _ understand – if it wasn’t the robot. Of all the people on the ship to want to fuck, and then carry it through, why the artificial one?  Elizabeth , the man’s own wife, would be a more sensible option.

He tells Holloway anyway, and Charlie splutters on his drink and bursts out laughing.

“Really? Oh, man – that’s – you know they don’t have junk, right?”

“I know,” Millburn says, neglecting to mention that he found it out last night. “But that’s hardly the main factor?”

“Well, if you want to have fun….”

“Ah, there’s other ways….”

“Can they even do pleasure?”

“Sort of, I don’t know….  But you don’t think I’ve fucked up? I thought I did. Badly.”

“Really?” Charlie shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Come on, a man has needs, right? You just chose the one that will absolutely never get attached to you. Have fun with your plastic pal.”

“It was a one-time thing,” Millburn says assuredly.

“And that’s fine as well. He doesn’t strike me as the jealous type, huh?” Charlie winks. Millburn smiles gratefully at him, and agrees, and the thought weighs heavy in the back of his skull that they’re severely underestimating their synthetic colleague. Knowing that, he finds it very difficult to laugh at David’s expense.


	5. Under Pressure

Those silvered bottles were large and heavy, and Meredith considered the drawbacks of bringing so many on the mission - things she hadn’t thought about before, things for engineers and quartermasters to consider. Things that someone as important as her would never deign to be bothered with.

She heaved again, but nothing came up besides a little fluid. It was a relief, though, and her tremors were beginning to subside. She felt much better about the whole situation. A hand in her hair, gently gathering it back, threatened to reverse all that.

She coughed and choked out “Go away.”

“Ma’am….”

“Go and  sit the fuck down , I’m not finished with you.” She waved a hand behind herself and caught him in the leg, sending the message fairly clearly. “I’m fine. Fuck off.”

He did, and she allowed herself a few more moments of undignified collapse over the basin, before smoothing out her clothing and returning to the main room.

“I’m fine,” she said again, declaring it to all present - herself, plus him. That was all.

He kept his face politely turned away, until she positively made the decision to look. It was actually better, with the damaged eye out. It was the  bleeding  that made her stomach turn.

Colourless simulated tears, and white hydraulic fluid, and inky black, drooling from the cracked optical fascia along his lids and down onto his face indiscriminately, like a person with heavy mascara regretting a night out.

She swallowed convulsively.

The socket appeared grey and clean, the nerve linkages a multicoloured stump in the back. Trying not to think about it too much, she picked up the new eye and compressed it gently between her fingers. It had the right amount of give, without being too squashy. Once in, it would take a while to calibrate, to link up to the optic feed and the tiny servos responsible for motion. He could do that by himself. But putting the unit in required an outside perspective, and a little thing called ‘depth perception’, which he couldn’t manage in this… state.

“Look up,” she said, like a kindly optician. She took his chin in one hand, and carefully pushed the eye into place with the other. It  clunked in past the rim of the socket, a feeling rather than a sound, and she almost heaved again. She let go of his face as quickly as possible, turning away twisting and rubbing her hands as he tested the eye.

Once she looked back, he appeared normal again - as normal as he ever could. He dutifully cleared away the evidence - cloths and tools, from the mechanical to the surgical - of the repair. The image of the silver bottle returned to dance before her.

“Don’t let him hit you again.”

“I’m afraid that might be easier said than done.” And for all the times she wanted to hurt him, to  destroy him (and took such an interest in the cybernetics division, for the simple purpose of finding out how it could be done), this was not one of those times. She didn’t quite manage to feel sorry for him, but anger rose in her throat as a welcome alternative to stomach contents.

“Well, if he tries....”

He looked at her, with the new eye weeping; a completely normal part of the calibration process. Knowing that, it was a lot easier to ignore the tears.

“What do you want me to say?” She shrugged defensively and went to the bar to pour herself a generous measure of something potent. “I’m not going to order you to protect yourself at all costs. Because you’ll kill him.”

“I can hardly imagine a situation would arise where I would have no other option but to -.”

“Shut up, David. You wouldn’t murder him in his sleep. But I’m sure you’d make it look like an accident. And then I’d have you scrapped and use your head as a trash can.”

He looked hurt - whether a result of the accusation of murderous intent or the idea of being destroyed wasn’t clear. His face tightened, and she took a drink with exaggerated nonchalance. It was important for him to know that she wouldn’t think twice about ordering his demise.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” she told him, gazing at the curved window and its non-view. “If you want to stop him hurting you, you can do that - but don’t make it so that he’s coming to me complaining about being attacked. And for the love of god, don’t provoke him. Understand?”

She knew without looking that his mouth was still in that thin line and his eyes fixed on anything but her. The ‘false neutral’, as she knows it. The result of being discouraged from showing contempt or irritation.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Now get out.”


	6. Sahara

He wouldn’t lock the door to the lab and go to town on one of the surfaces. That was abundantly clear, and while Millburn felt a little disappointed (seducing some guy while at the bench, in PPE, was definitely on his bucket list if only to prove that it could be done), it was probably for the best. There were cameras in there. There were cameras everywhere, monitoring every corner of the ship where one could reasonably expect to be observed.

There were two cameras watching him, if he was being totally honest, as he pinned the android’s lithe body to the wall of his room. The tightening of legs around his midsection, hopefully not a precursor to crushing him to death. Eyes an inch from his face. Not quite getting the hang of the whole ‘closed eyes whilst making out’ thing yet, apparently, but it was early days. At least it felt like that, despite the week and a half (approximately, ship’s time) that he’d been pursuing the least logical romance since his third grade pet rock. Plenty of time for David to have figured him out completely. Also plenty of time for someone else to find out.

Charlie knew, because Millburn had told him (he hoped so desperately that it wasn’t related to the  _ incident _ , because that was messed up in the worst way). And Elizabeth probably knew. Vickers might have figured it out - how much did the pseudo-siblings share with each other? If anything? She would be disgusted with them, most likely. He couldn’t see how that would be a significant change from the status quo.

Eyes were still watching him, blinking just enough not to be entirely disturbing. Millburn should have probably descended to the depths of self-loathing, but couldn’t, because  _ doesn’t matter, had sex _ .

“What?” he asked instead.

“What is it about me that you find particularly alluring?”

He laughed and shrugged, hoping it didn’t seem too flippant. “You’re hot. That’s… basically it.” He would never, ever say that in earnest to a human man. He’d have second thoughts about even using it as a joke, unless they were both definitely sharing it. It took a lot of affection, after all, to casually throw slander at someone.

“It’s a purely physical attraction.” David laid his head on his arms. “I thought so.”

“Is that… is that a problem? I’m sorry.”

“Not at all.” That little smile. The way snakes look at prey, Millburn thought, and had a reprisal of his images of being constricted to death. “I’m just curious.”

“Look, it’s not  personal . I mean, it - it  is , but you’re attractive, right? You’re made like that. And if I wanted to - you’re easiest. I - I mean, most objective! I….”

He stared helplessly at the  _ Little Shop of Horrors _ poster on the opposite wall of his room. Ever the social klutz, he had managed to insult the one person on the ship designed never to be insulted.

“Surely I can’t provide you with everything you’re looking for?” To his credit, David didn’t seem affected.

“Well, no… but what we do - it’s not like I’m not satisfied. Even if there are… other people.” A valiant effort not to say  _ humans _ . You know - the ones with the actual genitalia and possibly even sex drives as well. The ones that were harder to get hold of but easier to keep. And would wake beside you in the morning. And couldn’t punch straight through your skull.

“Humans.”

“I, erm, yes.” There, it was said for him. “All the rest of us are humans, though. So it’s not really… competition. You know?”

“Are there others in the crew that you’re interested in?”

“Jealous?” Millburn teased, but also really rather wanted to know. He couldn’t  get jealous, could he?

“No. But unless your criteria for attraction are simply a description of me - very unlikely, I have to say - there must be others that catch your eye.”

“Well, alright.You got me, there are.” Millburn stretched his legs with a rueful smile. “But he’s not interested, so….” He realised what he’d just said, and it was as if an icy finger touched the back of his neck.

“He? One specific person?”

There was no way he could insist that it had been somehow mis-heard. “Yes.”

“I see,” David said, and raised an eyebrow. “So it’s cowardice.”

Millburn spluttered a little, unaware until now that the android had such a barbed tongue.

“It’s not - he’s not - I’m not - but he really doesn’t like me.”

“How have you come to this conclusion?”

“Is this a one-night stand or a therapy session?” Millburn countered, his agitated state evidenced by the fact that he was considering this, as well as all the other times, as a one-time thing.

“I’m only trying to help, doctor.”

“Are you programmed to matchmake as well?”

“I’m interested in your welfare.”

“Hm.” Millburn couldn’t see how that was true. “Fine. Be interested. I’m going to sleep.”

He flicked off the light and turned over, knowing full well that David never slept in his presence. If at all.

“Have it your way, doctor.”


	7. I Shine

She won’t take the step of confronting Charlie directly - why would she bring him in here, for him just to smirk and argue and slope around in his goddamn sandals and refuse to be intimidated? But there is another way.

“Dr Shaw,” and Elizabeth smiles because she has no idea what’s coming, “do you have any idea why your partner took it upon himself to try and break a champagne bottle across our android’s face?”

Meredith sees immediately that Dr Shaw hasn’t been informed of this.

“What? No, I - Charlie did  _ what _ ?”

“If you want proof, you can check the security footage,” this is to guard against the inevitable denial. “Caused cosmetic damage to his nose and cracked his eye open. I repaired him myself.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. If the company wants to -.”

“The company isn’t going to hear about this,” Meredith says, and there’s the understanding that this is about them, and not finance or property. It makes Elizabeth lay down her brush and remove her mask. “I just wanted to make you aware.”

“But - what happened?”

“I’m not sure. David denies that he provoked Dr Holloway. Although that’s probably a matter of opinion. Whatever went on, Charlie took it badly.”

“Charlie wouldn’t -.”

“But he has, Dr Shaw.” Meredith leans closer. “And if you don’t want one or both of them to end up in serious trouble, I suggest you keep a close eye on him. And perhaps advise him to mediate his alcohol consumption.”

Elizabeth nods, suitably chastened. Meredith doesn’t want to make her feel too much at fault, but it’s the only guaranteed way to get to Charlie. And David, of course, is the thing they have in common.


	8. The Big Jump

“Necessary maintenance,” Fifield says, chewing over it again. He shakes his head. “I don’t see what’s necessary about it. We’re trying to actually do some work here.”

“That’s what she told us,” Shaw says soothingly. “And don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be done soon, and you can get back to your….”

“Rocks. My rocks. There’s fuck-all I can do in here apart from some basic tests, and I dunno, sitting on my arse watching you lot swan around.”

“Why don’t you do that, then?” Millburn suggests, and wishes he hadn’t. Fifield turns to him, incredulous, then drags up a stool with a loud scrape and drops his backside down on it.

“Alright then, Mr Biology. If you want an audience - I’ll watch you do your thing… whatever that is. No pressure.”

He folds his arms. He thinks he’s won. Little does he know that Millburn is the victor here, able to watch him as he watches the work, and dream of him drawing closer and closer, fascinated, until their shoulders brush and their eyes meet in the reflection of the glass….

Millburn’s fingers tremble as he picks up a plate from the stack. Perhaps he has less of a victorious advantage than he thought. He streaks the first, barely avoiding slicing the surface of the agar, and sets it down. The worms writhe in their container on the shelf beside the cabinet. Perhaps they’re psychic worms, able to sense his distress.

Perhaps they just want revenge on him for cutting up and examining their fellows, and culturing their gut microbes.

“What are these things, anyway?” Fifield is attracted by their frantic squirming. If only the same were true in Millburn’s case.

“They’re worms.”

“That it?”

“Well, they appear to be similar to the segmented invertebrates we have back home - like mealworms, or something - but it’ll take a lot more tests to establish whether that’s actually the case.” This is the longest conversation he’s had so far with his colleague where he hasn’t said something he regrets. “It’s not like rocks, you can’t just name them.”

And there’s the regret.

“Is that what I’ve been doing for the past fortnight, then?” Fifield says, leaning back from the worms. “Just giving them names?”

“Well, I didn’t -.”

“Not running exhaustive chemical and physical analysis? Not trying to figure out what shaped the ground that we’ve landed on, that these Engineers of theirs built their… whatever that thing is, out of?”

“Look, I -.”

“But no, I’ve just been sitting around, naming rocks and having a wank.” And there’s another image Millburn doesn’t need. The man is somehow more attractive the angrier he gets. “While you name your worms.”

“But -.”

“And now I’m locked out of the lab, ‘cos of some bullshit  scheduled maintenance  that I’ll bet wasn’t even  on  the fucking schedule before Ms Vickers found out I’m using a picture of the Weyland board of directors on the dartboard. I bet that fucking robot told her.”

Something clicks into place. Millburn drops the lid of the plate and knocks over the sample vial (cap on).

“You alright there, Biology?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (He’s plating out alien bacterial cultures in a flow cabinet, because these are the people that poked and prodded a diseased Engineer head in an open lab wearing nothing more than masks and gloves.)


	9. Tarantula

He manages to hang on for a reasonable length of time before excusing himself. Shaw sympathises; they’ve all been working very hard. Fifield smirks and takes over his bench, and might - this is just a possibility, but one he can by no means discount - have actually touched his butt deliberately as he squeezed past to dispose of his gloves. It’s a nice thought, anyway.

David is examining pieces of Engineer armour next door, and is also impossible to sneak up on.

“Dr Millburn.”

“Ok,” Millburn rocks on his heels and clears his throat. “I’m just - I’m just gonna ask this. Yes or no question. Did you or did you not bring the maintenance on the environment lab forward so that I’d be shoved in there with Fifield?”

“That isn’t technically a yes or no question.” He doesn’t look round.

“David….”

“But I did, yes. The equipment has had heavy use after a long period of idleness, and I thought it best to nip any potential problems in the bud, so to speak. Dr Ford agreed with me - she was the one that changed the schedule.”

“So this isn’t about the dartboard?”

“I beg your pardon, doctor?”

“I - never mind. But you knew you’d kick Fifield out? And he’d have to come into my lab and have his hands all over my stuff?”

“And has he? Had his hands all over your things, I mean.”

“That’s -.” Millburn was about to say ‘that’s between me and him’, but realises that it’s just playing further into the  double entendre . Both of them teasing him: not what he needs. “You did it, didn’t you? I’ll never get you to admit it, I know that… but you made this happen, because you’re - you’re  matchmaking , or something.” He takes off his glasses and cleans them briskly, replaces them on his face. “I’m onto you.”

“I’m sure Dr Fifield appreciates the chance to observe the workings of a field different to his own,” David says neutrally.

“I’m, ah, pretty sure he  doesn’t  appreciate it, actually. Amazingly enough.”

“Perhaps he’s not being entirely honest with you, then. Don’t worry. I’m sure if you probe him enough, he’ll open up.”

Millburn can  feel that infuriating, false-innocent smile even from behind, and opts to leave before he gives in to the urge to slam the bastard against the table and kill him, or kiss him, or both.


	10. Tainted Love

He does one of those two things later, giving in to his addiction to that perfect body.

“I trust you’ve had pleasant day in Dr Fifield’s company?”

“ God damn it . Yeah, it was - fine, he didn’t stab me or anything. We… erm, we did have lunch together. But you know that - obviously. That’s the thing on this damn ship,” he glances around, “there’s no room for being alone, is there?”

“We’re alone now.”

“Yeah, but we could go into the corridor and hey, there’s someone we live with! Go to the rec room, there’s someone else. I don’t believe there’s 17 people here. More like seventeen hundred.” He huffs and bumps his forehead against David’s - a human gesture that the android has become accustomed to. Even if he never emulates it.

“I’m sure I can arrange for you and Dr -.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ve kinda had enough of your  arranging . No offence. But I can take it from here, I think. I promise not to mess up.”

“Well, I can’t be the judge of that.” He smirks at the hands undoing his jacket. It’s the dark green one with the high collar that showcases his long neck so perfectly, despite disguising the rest of his shape. “Having trouble?”

“No, it’s fine - I just… thought there were just these buttons, there’s -.” He throws his hands up, and leaves it to David to shed the jacket in seconds. “See, this is why I wear sweaters.”

“Because they come off more easily?”

“Well, not - yeah, they do. But not, I mean, I’m not taking them off a  lot , that’s - that’s an exaggeration of how lucky I get.” He turns his sigh into a laugh, at that realisation. But there’s something wrong. “Are you ok?”

David is frowning, with his head tilted to one side. Millburn tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. What’s the matter?”

“Ms Vickers is calling me,” the android says. “Using the ship’s network.”

“Wait, you can feel wireless networks? Or hear them? Or… what?”

“Feel them, mostly.” He rubs the back of his neck, the way people do when a clothing label itches. “It’s difficult to explain, but - the feeling when a device vibrates on the table near your hand. That, except in your head.”

“It’s uncomfortable?”

“It’s unusual. She rarely ever uses this. I’m not sure what she wants.”

“I suppose you’d better go and find out, right?” Millburn says, disappointed.

“I should.”

“And maybe… maybe put your clothes back on before you do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The jacket: http://e-ripley.tumblr.com/post/161402521231


	11. Fistful of Silence

“He  stabbed  you? First he hit you, and now he puts a knife through your hand? What the fuck is going on?”

“If I may address your questions separately, Ma’am -.”

“Go ahead.” She jabs the brush into the bottle of nail polish and adjusts her robe, bringing one foot onto the sofa.

“He did, but not seriously.” He brandishes an unmarked hand. “I was able to repair the damage myself; nothing more than a skin closure. I have no reason to believe it was related to the previous incident -.”

“Except that every time you two are alone together, he smacks the crap out of you.”

“- except that he appears to have a worrying habit of dealing with his anger in… unproductive ways.”

“Oh, I don’t know - I’d say it’s fairly productive. If all he wants to do is reduce his paycheck.” She completes the large toenail and swipes away a stray dot of scarlet polish. It lingers on her skin, dark like arterial blood. “I can’t press charges, because you’re technically equipment. Unless I go for damage to company property.”

“I understand, Ma’am,” David says, with the practised fluency of someone used to being overlooked as a person.

“I want to, though.” She scowls at her toes. “Something about him really pisses me off. He’s worse than you. I want to wipe that fucking smirk off his dumb little face. But I can’t do that until we get back to Earth. Or at least, off this rock. In the meantime, try not to get yourself killed.”

“I’ll try, Ma’am.”

“No, I mean it. Although it’s not like I care.” Screwing the cap securely back on the bottle, she sets it on the table with a  clack . “Ok, I  do  care.”

“Ms Vickers?”

“You might not be  alive , but you’re around, and if he murders you… everything would go to shit, wouldn’t it? I - we - can’t afford that. And neither can he. I’d sue him for every penny he has. And his house. And his stupid fucking hat. On my behalf, as well as yours.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“That’s right, David. I’d profit massively from your death.” She smiles at him, and he smiles back - it means nothing positive to either of them; more of a baring of teeth at each other. “But I’d prefer to do it myself, and not some dickwad in sandals and his wet blanket girlfriend.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”


	12. Derezzed

“Can’t a man take a walk?” Millburn says irritably in response to the ‘excuse me’ behind him, before turning around to see the person he least wants to see right now. “Oh. Hi.”

“You alright there?” It’s not a question, but a greeting. Fifield’s eyes make a quick survey of him. “In your pants. With… whatever that is?”

“I just wanted food,” Millburn defends. David’s absence had left him bored and hungry. “And I’m not in my -” he realises that the other man meant trousers “- ok, I am in my underwear. But I wasn’t expecting to -.”

“You’re wearing bunny slippers?”

“Yes, I am.” He draws himself up to his full height - significantly taller than Fifield, and for once he doesn’t feel awkwardly large. “Why? Can’t a man carry his giant bucket of tiny  _ baozi _ through the corridors of a spaceship, wearing bunny slippers and boxer briefs, without being interrupted by fully-clothed assholes?”

There’s the regret again, though he can’t help but feel he might have the moral high ground here.

Fifield starts to laugh at that. It’s the first proper, non-sarcastic laugh Millburn has ever heard out of him. He laughs until he has to clutch at the nearest wall projection for support. Millburn just stands there, steam gently rising from his bucket.

“You…” Fifield wipes tears from his eyes “are just too much.  Mate... .”

“So… can I get back to my room now? And my important face-stuffing business?”

“I thought you were shagging the android?”

That pulls him up short. “No. I mean, yes, I mean how’d you know that?”

“I’ve seen him coming out of your room. Why would he need to be in there unless you two were up to something?”

“We could have been playing chess.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you weren’t.”

“We weren’t.”

“Thought so.”

“He got called away,” Millburn admits. “So I’m on my own.”

“You’re gonna eat all of that on your own?”

“I… yeah, I am. Unless - oh, what am I saying?”

“Unless I came and helped you?” Fifield suggests, and Millburn can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. “I am a bit peckish, now you mention it.”

“If - if you want. Sure. Yeah. Sure.” He shifts the bucket, unable to believe it.

“Do I, ah, need to be in my pants as well?”

“Up to you,” Millburn says automatically. His head is spinning.

“Fair enough.” Fifield shrugs and gestures down the corridor. “After you, bunny boy.”


	13. Babylon

“So,” Millburn says, stretching his arms. “Breakfast?” It’s one of the best conversational openers he knows, especially if he’s awake before them.

“What?” Fifield stirs, sits halfway up and squints at the display projected onto the wall. They’d fallen asleep to the background of a movie about penguins, but now a screensaver lazily revolves, paired with the time. “Christ. Half nine. Alright then.”

“Thank goodness,” Millburn responds without meaning to. “Sorry - it’s pretty cool to have someone around who, you know….”

“Eats?”

“Well, yeah. I was thinking, you know,  stays . But yeah, eats as well.”

“You’re a nutter, you know that?” Fifield shakes his head. “There’s plenty of humans round here.”

“I know, I know… but c’mon, he’s - he’s not bad looking.”

Fifield shrugs and rolls over. “Not really my type.” He stands and stretches, treating Millburn to a view of his backside. “Bit poncy. Not much fun.” He heads for the shower.

“Am I fun, then?”

“Yeah, sure. Definitely, after last night’s performance.”

“Good. Thanks.” Millburn watches him disappear through the bathroom door, and flexes a foot (still in its bunny slipper). 

Now is the morning of his disbelief. He can’t quite believe that 1) he ate so many buns, 2) he’s still fancying the thought of breakfast despite that, 3) he actually managed to get Fifield into bed, or at least onto it, or at least halfway onto it the first time, then the floor the second time, and  then onto the bed, and 4) that he had sex wearing bunny slippers. Some of those things are quite a source of pride.

Hearing the shower start, he gets up and starts to tidy the room a bit. For once, the garments strewn around aren’t folded; he picks them up and dumps them onto the sofa, not wanting to try. Fifield’s clothing almost  resists  folding. It has probably never seen an iron before. Millburn likes that. His own underwear goes in the laundry basket, and the slippers by the bed. He straightens the duvet, then after a moment’s thought strips the bed as well. The place looks slightly more civilised by the time Fifield walks out of the bathroom, slaps Millburn’s exposed buttock and says “Get dressed and let’s go, I’m fucking starving.”


	14. Something About Us

The crew have developed a habit of applauding whenever two of their colleagues appear in a manner suggesting they may have spent the night together. Ravel is accused of starting it, but denies this and blames it on Chance. Ask Chance, and it’s vice versa. Millburn has never been subjected to this, and whilst pulling on his hoodie and finding his glasses, expresses his desire for that trend to continue. Fifield agrees. He’s not a morning person, despite his relative good humour in Millburn’s presence.

“If someone tries to high-five me, I’ll twat them in the fucking face. No kidding.”

They arrive separately. For once, Fifield deigns to sit next to him (albeit a couple of feet along the bench), and nobody is any the wiser. Except that Millburn catches David’s eye, and he  definitely knows. Even if he hadn’t set them up, he would surely have been suspicious. He keeps a discreet distance - but Millburn wonders whether he can still detect a raised heart rate.

“Millburn?” Ellie was talking to him. He smiles and apologises for zoning out and turns his attention back to her. Fifield snorts beside his elbow. He doesn’t have enough peripheral vision to keep an eye on David, and that worries him a little. Because he knows the android must be watching him.

But when he finally gets an excuse to look round, David is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to write a thesis on 'use of the word twat as a verb'. It does happen, at least in the UK.


	15. Kill The Sound

“What’s the matter?” Fifield says, with characteristic bluntness. “Jealous?”

He’s not quite stuck to Millburn, but they’re definitely closer than they were before. That is to say, ‘could now be described as close by most definitions of the word’. Millburn likes this a lot, and he’s working up to broaching the question of whether they should do that again some time - either eating together, hanging out together, or fantastic spontaneous sex. Any of those would be a great outcome. But he’s not sure they have an  understanding just yet. Their terms still have to be stated. So he hovers, and hopes for good things.

“I don’t experience jealousy.”

“Yeah? What about Dr Shaw?”

“I think  _ curiosity _ would be the better term.”

“What about… your sister?”

There is a pause, which Millburn fills with. “Oh, come  on ,” directed at Fifield. The implication is that he’s being rude. Also, Millburn is worried about David actually killing him for that comment.

“Were we presented to you as siblings? I do apologise. Ms Vickers in no way considers herself my sister. And I’m not her brother.” The tight, uncompromising smile is the same, though.

“Ok, woah.” Millburn holds up his hands. The three of them are alone in the lab (for once), so he feels he can safely bring this up. “Are we… are we just gonna stand here and pretend we don’t see  that ?”

Fifield sighs. David gives him a look of  _ whatever do you mean _ , but the effect is ruined by his bent posture over the sink. And the slow drip, drip of white blood onto stainless steel.

“There was a misunderstanding,” he says, in that flat tone which makes him sound entirely robotic (and would give the same impression even in a human).

“Charlie hit you again, didn’t he? What is his  _ problem _ ?” Millburn is seriously concerned, and it shows.

“So… will that heal up?” Fifield asks. “Like, I’m not sure how you… operate. If that’s the right word.”

“The flow will stop,” David tells him. “The capillaries will repair themselves, and any minor skin breaches can heal over. If there’s more extensive damage - which doesn’t seem likely - I’ll fix it myself.”

“So, that’s good?”

“Yes, Dr Fifield. It’s good.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I don’t know if you’d describe it as pain. That’s a very subjective thing. But I’m aware of the damage. It’s not a pleasant sensation.”

“Ah, perhaps we’re not seeing the real issue here,” Millburn says, thinking that he shouldn’t have. It sounds like a weak thing to say, a guidance counsellor’s platitude in the face of disaster. “I mean, obviously the damage - injury - to you is an issue. But what’s Charlie  _ doing _ ? What does he think he’s achieving?”

“I can’t begin to guess,” David says dryly. He reaches over and runs the tap for a short while, sending streams of white down the drain.

“You know what I think?” Fifield folds his arms, not looking at all like a man who’s had a revelation.

“What?” Millburn doesn’t know if this will be a joke or not.

“I think it’s him or us.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“Charlie’s a volatile little fucker. That’s what I mean. He needs either everyone listening to him all the fucking time, or something to take his anger out on. Or someone.” He indicates David. “And if he snaps and smacks me or you or, I dunno, Janek, in the face, there’d be hell to pay. But smacking the robot - consequence-free, isn’t it? He only does it because he can get away with it.”

“I think you may be right,” David says quietly. He seems perturbed by actually having people on his side.

“So that’s the theory,” Millburn agrees. “But what do we do?”


	16. Bulletproof

As long as the storm lasts, they are content to stay in bed. If one closes one’s eyes, the howling tornado of silicate particles currently sandpapering the outside of the ship can almost sound like heavy rain or hail. Millburn misses Earth. Not a particular yearning for any aspect of its lush biodiversity or vibrant culture. Just the fact that you could do things like ‘going outside’ and ‘walking around’ without being murdered by the atmosphere, the weather, the water, the wildlife….

The inside of the ship isn’t that appealing either, despite being comfortable. So he lies with his eyes closed and Fifield snoring on his chest (nearly drowning out the storm) and imagines they’re in a rainforest, with the drone of insects and chattering monkeys, and screeching birds inches from his ear.

He sits upright. Fifield groans and punches him in the chest. Ellie will not stop shouting at him, according to her, until he opens the door. He reluctantly reaches for the controls. She spills into the room like a tiny version of the storm outside, dressed in a bathrobe.

“Did you say anything to him before they went?”

“What?” Millburn is surprised she hasn’t commented on the scene in front of her. He pulls a blanket up over Fifield’s exposed body and makes a half-hearted attempt to move both the lube (nearly empty) and the tray of chicken wings (completely empty).

“David. What did you say to him before we went?”

“I… no.” Millburn squints at her. He needs his glasses for his situation. “What? Why? I mean, yeah, I would have spoken to him. In that sense. You know. But nothing - why, is there something wrong?”

“We left them in the pyramid.” Elizabeth is trembling.

“Well, yeah. We… had to, didn’t we?” One of the unintended consequences of the storm; some of them hadn’t made it out. Two, to be precise. “What’s - what’s the problem?”

“Has someone died?” Fifield mumbles with a distinct lack of solemnity, and turns over again.

Ellie chews on her lip. Never a good sign.

“Is that why you want to know if I talked to him?” Millburn is creeping towards the realisation that something is very wrong indeed. “Because I did, but… nothing significant. He didn’t say anything that, you know, worried me. And - and neither did Charlie. Like, the whole time we were in there. And obviously they were left in there, but that was a mistake, right? But they can survive until we go get them? Right?”

“The structure can support life,” Elizabeth agrees, with none of her usual quiet assurance. “Charlie will be fine, until we go and get him. And… and the parts.”

“Parts of..?” Millburn starts to ask. But he knows as soon as the words are out, and even Fifield raises his head in shock.

That would be why she came charging into his room, then.


	17. Back to the Wall

“He’s a  robot ,” Vickers says firmly. She’s been crying recently and thinks he doesn’t notice, but he can’t help noticing.

“I know,” Millburn replies, “but can’t you… do something?” He waves a vague hand around the room, and at the medical pod.

“That’s for humans,” she snaps. “It’s not an engineer. We don’t  have an engineer. We don’t  have  spare parts - at least, not the kind he would need. Assuming he’d even run.”

“Well then…” Millburn gazes at the floor. “Look. I don’t even know why I’m the one talking to you about this. I was  _ nominated _ , for god’s sake. I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve got negotiating skills, or because I could arm-wrestle you into submission….”

She snorts. Either of those, he has to admit, are unlikely.

“I don’t know, alright? We can… we can carry on without him, right? I mean, I know I had some - ah, some significant interaction with him,” the term he would have used, no doubt, “but….”

“He never loved you,” she says, as if it’s some kind of victory.

That declaration upsets Millburn a lot less than she probably bargained for. “Oh, I know. And I didn’t love him - I mean, I did in a way. I liked him. In a weird way. But it was never anything other than the fact he was, you know, pretty hot, and I was, you know… horny and desperate, really.” He clears his throat. “I mean it was a physical thing.”

“So you’re not sad?”

“Oh, I am - sort of. But sort of not. It’s not like… a close friend, or another person who….”

“You don’t equate his life with a human life?”

Millburn blinks at her. “When did you turn into a psychoanalyst?” She doesn’t answer. “I’m not saying I don’t care. But it’s not like I have a special interest. And he… he didn’t have a special interest in me. I don’t think. I don’t know. And… I guess I won’t know.” He spreads his hands. “I can’t tell you what to do about this, although - although I’m probably meant to. You can talk to Ellie if you want a debate. And Charlie, if you want a fight….”

“Dr Holloway is quarantined,” she says without emotion.

“Well then, you’ve solved that problem.” Millburn doesn’t know what else to say. “Look, I’m gonna go. I’ll just assume you have this whole thing under control, and I’m gonna go. Because I’m not the person to be dealing with this.”

“No, you’re not.”

With that vote of confidence, Millburn feels justified in leaving.


	18. Louder Than Words

“You gonna have a funeral for the parts?” Fifield says above the rushing of the water, irreverent as usual. Millburn shrugs and their limbs collide. The shower is large, but still that tiny bit too small for them both. Not sexy.

“Not my job… and he’s not really dead, is he?”

“You mean, he was never alive?”

“God no. Not that debate. We only just got viruses sorted out, and now machines…? No, I mean - he’d still function if you wired him up again. His brain would. Maybe some of his senses.”

“See, this is why we can’t have nice things.”

Millburn smiles at that, because it is a joke - but with an uncomfortable ring of truth. “We could keep him, as, like, a head in a jar. If he wanted.”

“Would you still fancy him then?”

“I’d… I’d talk to him. Why?” Millburn looks down, water dripping off his nose. “Are you… jealous?”

“Nah.” Fifield reaches for the soap. “Mate - if I could be upstaged by a fucking robot head in a jar, I’d have bigger problems than jealousy, wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen any time soon.”

“Good.” He rests one arm on the tiles and scratches his backside - both with a hint of caution, considering the tiny, slippery space. “This whole thing’s a fucking mess, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Millburn gathers him into his arms, ignoring his squeak of surprise. “I want to go home.”

The pattering of the shower continues for a few long moments before he hears Fifield say, almost inaudibly:

“So do I.”


End file.
